Gang Aft Agley
by dieselwriter
Summary: You know what they say about the best laid plans. Too bad Harry and Ron don’t. Their friendship is tested when an attempt to retrieve Slughorn’s memory fails miserably. Missing HBP Moment, Canon Compliant, Complete
1. The Best Laid Plans

**A/n**: As my sister and David Spade put it best: This is my birthday gift to me! I'm so happy!

This was meant to be included in another story of mine, _The Tales of Weasley the Father_, but alas, it turned out to be way too long. So I ran with it as a side project, and here we are!

**Disclaimer**: Even the absolute perfection of my best-laid planning wouldn't be enough to have me create a universe as awesome as JK Rowling's.

**Setting**: HBP, after Harry's first failed attempt to get Slughorn's Horcruxy memory, before Ron's 17th birthday. That falls into the late January and early- to mid-February time frame during sixth year.

**Rating**: PG, for the occasional explosion (of both the verbal and physical variety), minor swearing, and sixth year Lavender Brown.

**Dedication**: To me. HA.

**Summary**: You know what they say about the best laid plans. Too bad Harry and Ron don't. Their friendship is tested when an attempt to retrieve Slughorn's memory fails miserably. Missing HBP Moment, Canon Compliant

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**Gang Aft Agley  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter One: The Best Laid Plans**

"I've an idea."

Harry raised his eyebrows at his best mate as the two headed down to the dungeons for their Potions class.

"Really? Well let me grab a camera…you alert the Prophet."

"Very funny," Ron muttered as they climbed down more stairs. "If you figure out a way to talk to Slughorn about his memory without having him shout at you or slam doors in your face, you will let me know, won't you?"

"You have an idea?" Harry asked, immediately intrigued.

"Well, I did, but I'm not so sure I should tell you now, seeing how rude you were to me earlier," Ron grinned mischievously as Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm _sorry_," Harry emphasized dramatically as they entered the classroom and sat down next to Hermione, who ignored the two whole-heartedly and continued her conversation with Ernie. "I suppose you getting an idea isn't _that_ odd of an occurrence."

"Well, _thank you_," Ron said, supplying the same theatrical tone his bespectacled friend had used. "Here's the plan."

The two bent heads together, so Slughorn, who had just bustled into the room, could not overhear.

"I'll do really crummy in class today," Ron muttered conspiratorially. "Play the troubled delinquent student to make you look even more of a Potions prodigy by comparison. At the end of class I'll cause some sort of mess, and then you stay behind after class to patch things up, get all nice and chummy with him, and then get his memory."

"The troubled delinquent student? Doesn't Malfoy already have that covered?"

"I suppose this is true," Ron said with a snicker and a quick glance over at the aforementioned Slytherin, who looked just as tired and vacant as usual these days. "But compared to me I'll make Malfoy look a saint."

"Couldn't hurt to try," Harry said with a shrug, as Slughorn waved his wand at the board. Words appeared and he turned back to the class with his customary congenial smile.

"Settle down, please, class! We've a lot to get through this afternoon, and I've not helped matters in arriving a few minutes late! But it couldn't be helped; just in today…."

Here he pulled from his pocket a small phial, and all eyes had to squint momentarily to take in the brilliant silvery liquid contained inside.

"Can anyone tell me what this—of course, Miss Granger?"

"_Potior Memoria_," Hermione said, staring at the substance in the phial which Harry at first assumed to be nothing more than luminescent water.

"Exactly!" Slughorn smiled widely, shaking the phial a bit. The contents didn't quite slosh like water, or any other kind of liquid for that matter, but didn't quite behave like a gas should either. "Five points for Gryffindor! _Potior Memoria_. Memory holder. This," again, he shook the phial, "is what makes a Pensieve work. And this, of course," Slughorn sidestepped to reveal a shallow stone basin with intricate detail around the rim, "is a Pensieve."

Harry immediately smiled, recognizing the Pensieve as Dumbledore's, having seen it multiple times this year. Slughorn uncorked the phial and slowly dumped its contents into the basin, the _Potior Memoria_ resembling both liquid and gas as the large professor held up the bowl and swirled the contents around for the class to see.

"The Pensieve is used to examine memories. The _Potior Memoria_ holds memories and projects them unto anyone who looks into the bowl.

"As you can probably imagine, the _Potior Memoria_ is quite a tricky potion to come up with, given that it is in between the state of gas and liquid. We won't be trying anything so complex today, but we will be working on a similar idea."

But Harry gave Ron a side glance and grinned; the mention of the Pensieve would give him an easy venue to discuss the memory. Now all Ron needed to do was follow through with the plan.

Slughorn had already pulled out another phial with a scarlet substance inside that was similar in liquidy-gas nature to the _Potior Memoria_, and Hermione had already received five more points to Gryffindor for correctly naming the new substance as _Potior Morbus_.

"This potion has properties similar to its brother _Potior Memoria_, but is quite easier to concoct. Instead of holding memories, our _Potior Morbus _is actually ingested and helps to keep dangerous diseases at bay for a few hours while Healers can get to work at curing the ailment.

"This is what we'll get started on today," Slughorn said jovially. "This potion needs a few days to sit after the first few instructions, so let's not waste any more time! Page 236 in your textbooks, if you please, and you'll need your protective glo—"

"Ouch!"

Michael Corner, one of the Ravenclaws sitting on the other side of the classroom, glared over at their table, rubbing the back of his head. Harry tried looking innocent, knowing full well who had caused the slight disturbance.

"Your protective gloves, then," Slughorn said, clearly uncertain as to what had just happened.

"You carry those around with you?" Harry asked Ron while everyone else was busy setting up equipment for the ensuing class work.

"Never know when you'll need them these days," Ron replied, casting Harry a furtive glance before taking careful aim to launch another Weasley's Wizarding Wheeze's invention at the back of a new target, Blaise Zabini. Ron's aim was off but it did not matter; the beetle-like projectile came to life when it hit the dungeon floor and scurried over to the Slytherin and disappeared under his pants leg. Zabini did not say a word as the beetle's pincers grabbed hold of his leg but he did look highly affronted as he glared at Harry's side of the table. Harry shook his head and set to work, letting Ron do his part and he in turn keeping his end of the bargain.

Zabini got another three Beetle Biters, one even landing in the collar of his robe and nabbing his neck, but he remained resilient (or thick-headed, Harry wasn't sure—he _did _hang around Malfoy). Ron either gave it up as a bad job or ran out of merchandise as he finally went about setting up his cauldron. Harry felt a slight pang of guilt as he stirred his already bubbling concoction, knowing Ron's grade would not fair too well this class if he kept at it. But Ron didn't seem to mind as he glanced at the instructions in his textbook and smiled wide.

"_What're you planning_?" Harry whispered when Slughorn wasn't paying attention.

Ron merely pointed to the first line of text under the ingredients list on page 236 and set to work.

_Over low heat, combine a pint of rat's blood with three newts, stirring once clockwise every minute for eight minutes._

The Prince's notes had called for an extra newt tail, which Harry had obediently added, and he was one stir away from proceeding to the next step. With a minute to wait, Harry took another glance at Ron's work and couldn't hold his grin.

The fire under Ron's cauldron burned bright and emitted such a heat that Harry was surprised he hadn't noticed the sweat rolling down his own face before.

"Mr. Wesley," Slughorn came forward, but shielded his face as the flames seemed to overwhelm the entire cauldron. "The instructions clearly said low heat!"

"Did they now?" Ron asked nonchalantly as purple sparks flew from the cauldron. Hermione shrieked in irritation as one landed on her pristine notes and began to smoke.

"And you were only supposed to add three newts!" Slughorn exclaimed and drew his wand, but Harry watched as Ron decisively threw in another newt to the cauldron while the portly Potions professor was distracted with the fire currently consuming Hermione's notes and part of the desk beneath them.

The effect was instantaneous: a large plume of smoke erupted and bright purple sparks flew even more erratically from his cauldron in all directions, as if he had threw in a Weasleys' Wild-Fire Whiz-Bang instead (although Harry wouldn't have put it past him to do so at this point). Ernie Macmillan dove over his cauldron in an attempt to shield its contents from the potion that was beginning to boil over.

But Harry suddenly had his own problems to deal with as a shower of sparks landed on the open Prince's book. He grabbed a fistful of robes and desperately tried to smother the flames.

"RON!"

Hermione looked positively outraged as yet another page of her notes was set aflame…really, she'd be lucky to salvage any of them. Harry had been fortunate enough to put out the fire on his own book; it was now pressed into his chest protectively.

"EVACUATE THE ROOM!" Slughorn shouted out, abandoning Hermione's notes in favor of counteracting the source of the distress.

Hermione collected her things rapidly, salvaging her notes giving her the motivation to purposefully abandon a class. She was so fast that only Draco Malfoy beat her to the door. Ernie gave his cauldron a depressed look, as if he were upset at leaving it behind, before rushing out of the room after the rest of the students.

Harry was now alone with Slughorn, Ron, and his catastrophe of a potion.

"We should put out the fire!" Slughorn called out, coming to stand beside Harry.

"I'll do it," Ron said, seeming to realize that perhaps he had taken his act a little too far and should attempt to rectify it. "_Aguamen_—"

"NO!"

"—_ti_!"

Slughorn's warning came too late; Ron had cast the spell, no doubt an attempt to put out the raging fire, but the result was a blinding light and a loud explosion. Harry grabbed onto Slughorn's arm and yanked him down a split second before it happened, protected from the blast by the desk.

"Ron? You okay?" Harry asked, resurfacing.

A dark, thick smoke smelling strongly of rotten eggs surrounded the desk, but Ron appeared like a figure out of mist, coughing and stumbling away with a face covered in soot.

"Yeah, 'm okay," he forced out, attempting to use his sleeve to rub his eyes. "God, it reeks….What the hell was that?"

"Combining water with rat's blood over heat causes a combustible and highly unstable reaction," Slughorn replied, his sweating, shining face emerging over the desk. "It is commonly used in magical fireworks, actually."

"Oh, er, right," Ron said, sounding embarrassed. Harry wouldn't have been surprised to see his ears pink if they weren't blackened by soot. "My fault entirely."

"That's quite all right, Ryan, quite all right," Slughorn bustled about, sweeping his wand and instantly vanishing the charred remains of the potion. "Perhaps you should concentrate a little harder next time, though."

"Right, sir."

"No lasting damage done, son," he said in a grandfatherly fashion as he went to a nearby cabinet and attempted to reach a small box just out of his reach on the very top shelf. "Would you mind bringing your classmates back inside so we may resume the lesson?"

Slughorn's short and round stature was preventing him from reaching the box and Harry started forward, eager to help and impress, but was quite surprised as Ron cut him off and reached for the top shelf, a put-out look in his eye.

"Sir? Aren't you going to, um," he stumbled over his words, his height making it easy to reach the top shelf and feel around for the elusive box. Finding it, he pulled it down and tried again: "I mean, didn't I just—"

"Don't be hard on yourself," Slughorn said in a consoling manner, not looking him in the eye as he took the box from the much taller boy. "I'm sure you did the best you could. Next time will work out better."

Harry watched the conversation between the two in silent anger, wondering why Ron only just now decided to deviate from the plan. Neither Slughorn nor Ron paid him any heed, though; the Potions professor opened the box and pulled out a pouch while Ron just stared at him, dumbstruck.

"I—I guess I'll fetch the class…" Harry muttered, still unsure of what was happening exactly but bitter about the whole preceding. Ron interrupted as he stalked past him.

"Don't bother, I'll do it."

Harry felt his irritation peak—really, what was the point of this plan if Ron was going to play _all _the parts?—as his best friend stormed off, although the affect was lost as he accidentally bumped into a desk and his shaking hands fumbled opening the door to the dungeon classroom. He walked off without a word to his classmates just outside the door, who stared at his sooty appearance and assumed him to be heading to the hospital wing.

"Professor," Harry said, deciding to try to salvage what was left of the plan despite this unexpected turn of events, "would you like some help?"

"No, Harry, m'boy; Ryan gave me all the help I need," Slughorn said, putting the final nail in the coffin of their now completely botched plan. He avoided his eye too, no doubt still remembering their last encounter which had ended in an equally doomed attempt at retrieving the memory. He pulled out a fine, white powder from the pouch and sprinkled it in the air. The rotten smell vanished immediately, and if Harry weren't so incredibly annoyed with Ron now he would have been immensely grateful. "Certainly bungled that one up, though, didn't he?"

Harry ground his teeth in further aggravation even as an odd sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach made itself present.

"And mine was going so well, too," he attempted a wistful tone, still trying to at least play the part, but to his ears he just sounded resentful. Glancing at his own abandoned cauldron he continued, "I was certain to get to the critical simmering stage if I hadn't been interrupted—"

"Is it safe to come in now?" Malfoy drawled from the hallway, and Harry cursed at the untimely disruption.

If Slughorn's earlier dismissal of his help was the final nail in the proverbial coffin, Malfoy's emergence was certainly the first fistful of dirt, effectively beginning the burial process.

"Yes, yes," Slughorn said, his job now finished as everything looked as it had before the class started. "Please, come back inside. We'll have to scrap today's attempts, I'm afraid, but considering the circumstances….I will make preparations so we will be back on track next lesson.

"Don't fret, Ms. Granger," he chortled, catching Hermione's anxious eye, "I won't be grading today's attempts. But be prepared to pick up from where we should have left off from today's lesson. And please!" he shouted, for the class had begun to rummage around to collect their things as they realized the lesson was over early. "A three foot essay on what we should have covered in class today."

Everyone paused, waiting for him to continue, but Slughorn merely smiled at the finally attentive class.

"_Now _you are free to leave."

Harry couldn't let so much as a peep out before Slughorn had collected his materials and scurried out of the classroom at Firebolt speed. Now the grieving process could fully begin for his completely deceased and buried plan.

Grousing, he opened up the Prince's book to assess the damage their stunt had caused.

"Damn."

The entirety of page 236, giving the full list of instructions on concocting the _Potior Morbus_ potion, had been charred to nothing but ashes, completely unreadable, meaning that next class he would have massive problems coming up with a potion to impress Slughorn.

"Fan-bloody-tastic," he complained some more, collecting up his own books. Seeing that Ron had left his behind, he began picking up his things too.

"I can't _believe _you two."

Harry looked up from his task to find Hermione standing by him, her lips pressed into a thin line that Professor McGonagall would have been proud to see. She was busy shuffling through her notes, picking out ones still somewhat legible and tossing aside those indecipherable from the blaze.

"What? It all ended up fine for you; we didn't get graded, did we?"

"You wasted a perfectly good class period!" she trilled, forcing the notes that passed her screening into her bag. "And for what? What did Ron nearly blowing up the classroom achieve?"

"Well," Harry grit his teeth in annoyance again; the only thing it had achieved was a guaranteed failing grade for his potion next class. There had been a small possibility it would have worked if Ron hadn't stabbed the already feeble plan in the back. "It was just an idea to get Slughorn to tell us about that memory—"

"By killing him?"

"Yes, that's exactly it Hermione," he said sarcastically. "Way to figure it out."

"Well I can't fathom any reason why you'd actually think causing such a dangerous distraction in class would be a good idea."

"Look, it was stupid, I admit, all right?" Harry asked, straightening up after he had managed to balance his and Ron's bags on his shoulder. "I'm sorry your time was wasted."

When Hermione continued looking cross, he rolled his eyes and added: "And sorry your notes were incinerated. You can copy mine if you want."

The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched as she abandoned said incinerated notes on the desk and fell in step next to him, exiting the classroom together.

"I don't believe you."

"Really, I am sorry—"

"No, I mean, I don't believe you took notes."

Hermione smiled teasingly as Harry _hmpf_ed.

"True, they were destroyed, too. I didn't think you'd even consider copying them anyway."

"Your notes were combusted as well? The Prince's notes?"

Harry easily identified the smug expression that fleetingly stole across her face and he frowned again.

"No need to get too excited, it was only one page," he said, any trace of humor gone in an instant. "You can still borrow the other pages, if you'd like."

"I'd rather figure it out for myself, thanks," she too adopted her icy attitude again as they rounded a corner.

Ron was waiting for them, still covered in soot, leaning against the dungeon wall with his arms crossed. Hermione ignored him completely and continued walking, leaving the two boys behind.

"You left in an awful hurry," Harry's eyes narrowed, still in a foul mood as he held up Ron's bag for him to take.

Ron snatched for it and missed; he blinked in surprise before trying again and succeeding.

"Yeah, well, thanks," Ron said, adjusting the bag strap to fit his lankier frame before starting to walk down the hall.

Harry fell into step alongside him, waiting for Ron to say something, to admit to his wrongdoing or else apologize. After a minute of silence, though, he couldn't contain his consternation any longer.

"Why'd you have to go and ruin it?!" he demanded.

"Ruin what?"

The confusion on his face only infuriated Harry even more.

"You shoved me out of the way! I was right about to get that box down and start up a chat—but then you came in and took the glory!"

"The _glory_?" Ron laughed, but it sounded a little forced. "Retrieving stuff out of other people's reach is glorious now, then, eh? Why wasn't I informed sooner?"

The fact that Ron was laughing all of this off as a joke, that he wasn't taking any of this seriously when so much had gone wrong…any future discussions with Slughorn would be destroyed, thanks to his lack of Potions expertise next class and consequential failing grade…Dumbledore would see him as a failure…as a useless child….

It made him lash out.

"You're just jealous."

The odd feeling he felt back in the Potions classroom earlier returned to his stomach when Ron abruptly stopped beside him, his blue eyes hardened.

"What?"

But Harry didn't care anymore.

"You. You're jealous."

They stood in a pregnant silence as Ron appraised him, his blue eyes swirling dangerously. But Harry returned the stare fiercely, unwilling to back down, and after a moment Ron continued on walking, shaking his head.

"Drop it, Harry, you don't understand."

"Understand what?" Harry muttered darkly. "You trying to slip into Slughorn's good books?"

"Harry, you _don't get it_," Ron said, voice low. "Drop it."

"That's it, isn't it? Lie and get me to think you're trying to help me out, but really just trying to suck up—"

"You don't know what you're talking abou—"

"—Because you want into his Slug Club, because you _are_ still jealous—"

Ron snapped; before Harry could react, he shoved him, looking positively furious. Harry stumbled into the stone wall, his hand scraping it painfully as he caught himself. He glared back up, noticing out of the corner of his eye a flurry of brown hair around the corner—apparently, someone had realized their scuffle and decided to either rat them out or find an alternate route to their destination.

"I don't give a _damn _about your precious _Slug Club_!" Ron shouted, oblivious to their momentary eavesdropper. "I told you—you don't get it!"

"What's to get, Ron?" Harry threw back, also ignoring the fact that they could get caught at any time and standing back up to go yell in his face. "Any time Slughorn even _talks _to me or Hermione or Ginny you get all bent out of shape. Sort of speaks for itself, don't you think?"

Ron looked murderous but before he could retaliate, verbally or otherwise, Ginny rounded the corner and stopped, eyeing the two with a shrewd look.

"You guys are out of class early…" When neither said anything, she continued: "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Ron said shortly, pushing past his sister before either she or Harry could say anything.

"What's wrong with him?" Ginny asked, watching her brother vanish around the corner she had just appeared from.

"How should I know?"

But Harry felt deflated now that Ron was gone and he was left alone in the hallway with Ginny. The monster that had been residing in his chest for the better part of five months purred delightedly at this unexpected turn of events.

"And what did you do to your hand?" Ginny tittered, pulling out a handkerchief from her pocket and wrapping Harry's raw and lightly bleeding hand in it. "You should be more careful, Harry."

"Yeah, well, that'd be easier if Death Eaters didn't keep coming after me."

"Oh, so you're blaming the Death Eaters for a fight between my dear brother and yourself?"

The monster grumbled unpleasantly at the loss of contact when Ginny backed off, her hands behind her back as if to hide something.

"How'd you—"

"Know? Please, Harry, getting into arguments with Ron is one of my favorite pastimes. I need to know when others are stepping into my territory."

Harry wiped the blood off his hand with Ginny's handkerchief, avoiding her eyes.

"I'll have to wash this before I give it back," he finally said after a brief silence, holding up said bloodied handkerchief.

"Don't bother, just keep it. Mum's given me a set. Apparently a _proper lady_," she said, mimicking a refined and sophisticated accent that didn't suit her as she gave him a small curtsy, "needs these sorts of things to hand out to her suitors. So consider yourself lucky, Mr. Potter."

The creature in his chest roared again in contentment as Ginny bounded down the hall, leaving her flowery scent in her wake. She stopped at the end, calling back out to him:

"I've got to see Slughorn right now, but we can talk later if you want?"

"That'd be nice, yeah," Harry replied, not sure he recognized his voice as it sounded a bit high-pitched.

Ginny flashed a wicked grin and disappeared around the corner without another word. Harry found himself staring after her for quite a while, relishing the scent that was slowly dissipating and basking in the glow of her last smile. The monster nestled back into its hiding spot, sighing blissfully at the conversation it had eavesdropped on and waiting impatiently for their next interaction.

Harry was forced to leave, though, when a troupe of fourth years stampeded down the hall a few minutes later, heading to a Gobstones Club meeting. He parted the crowd and retreated up the stairs and into the Great Hall. He plopped down next to Hermione, who was eating alone, and pulled the closest thing to him.

"You look happy," was the first thing she said, sounding suspicious.

"Well sure, just because Potions was a bust doesn't mean I shouldn't be happy, right?"

"I suppose," Hermione watched him cautiously as he piled more food onto his plate. "Where did Ron run off to?"

"He's not here?" Harry glanced up and down the table, but no Weasley was in sight.

"No…" Hermione said, sounding even more suspicious, almost accusatory. When Harry made no further comment, she added: "Wasn't he with you?"

"Yeah, well…" Harry shoved a roasted potato in his mouth, "now he's not."

"_Why_ not?"

"Because I'm sitting here with you, aren't I? Can't be with both of you at the same time anymore, can I?"

His elation at having a private conversation with Ginny was apparently short-lived as Hermione brought him back to the reality where he would soon be disappointing Slughorn and Dumbledore.

Hermione's nostrils flared but she said nothing more concerning Ron. The rest of their conversation was rather tense, however, and he wasn't too sore when, ten minutes later, she decided to leave him to his dessert and head to the library to begin work on Slughorn's assignment.

He had just made the agonizing decision of which delectable-looking tart to try first when the sound of hissing reached his ears. He glanced over at the doorway, expecting to find Crookshanks making enemies, but was pleasantly surprised to find Ginny at the entrance to the Great Hall, having what looked to be a private and rather heated conversation with Hermione. Hermione kept jabbing her finger angrily in his direction while Ginny placed her hands on her hips and scowled.

Both girls glared at him before leaving the Great Hall for good, making the treacle tart he had wanted to eat look quite unappetizing.

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**A/n**: Well, that's it for now. I'm planning the next chapter out sometime next week, hopefully Wednesday. This story has four planned chapters (most of them written out already), so get ready for the ride!

Hope it hasn't gone too fast for any of you; I was planning on ending this chapter sooner, but it didn't really flow the way I wanted it to, so I lengthened it a bit.

As always, reviews would be most appreciated. I've gotten so used to writing epiloguey HP characters that getting back into Hogwarts with their teenagery selves has been a bit of a trip! And now I've learned why JK wrote about Harry's chest-monster; it's an absolute blast! I recommend any and all writers to try it out for yourself to see what I mean.

Expect the next chapter to contain the following: angry Ginny, angry Harry, angry Lavender, and relatively complacent Neville. Should be fun!

~dieselwriter

P.S.: Rewatching HP 1 and 2 on da Disney channel. I've forgotten how funny chibi-Potter is. "I'll be waiting to open the door." = loltastic


	2. Of Slugs and Men

**A/n**: Did I say an update on Wednesday? I meant Sunday...*shifty eyes*

Sorry about the delay. This chapter goes out to nami, for encouragement and patience. Hope you like this one!

**Note**: Had to bump up the rating. There is no excuse for these angsty potty-mouthed teens, so I won't even bother trying to apologize for them. Foul language is afoot!

That said, I hope I didn't deter anyone from reading and enjoying!

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**Gang Aft Agley  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter Two: Of Slugs and Men**

"Have you seen Ron?"

Harry looked up from his Potions paper that he had barely started working on in the Gryffindor common room to find a worry-eyed Lavender Brown standing before him. He swallowed his initial, rather harsh reply before answering.

"Nope."

"I haven't seen him since lunch! Parvati heard from Terry Boot that he exploded the Potions classroom!"

"Ah, well, that'd be true."

Harry's attempt at nonchalance was poorly received. He thought for a minute she would snap his femur, or else take the less violent route and hex him to oblivion, but all she did was grit her teeth and reply snippily:

"Well, _if _you see him, will you please tell him I'll be in my room waiting for him?"

"Sure," he said, not bothering to remind her that it was impossible for boys to ascend the staircase to the girl's dormitories.

Lavender seemed satisfied with the answer, however, as she left him for the confines of her bedroom.

Sighing, Harry picked his quill back up, but his hand remained suspended over the parchment. He was having a rather difficult time finding the motivation to write an Outstanding-worthy essay when faced with the imminent Troll-worthy effort on the next step of the _Potior Morbus _potion.

"In my experience, Harry, I've learned that essays usually don't write themselves."

Harry glanced up and gave a small grin at finding Neville Longbottom standing above him, laden with textbooks and parchments.

"Mind if I join you?"

"By all means," Harry said, pushing the chair across from him out with his foot. Neville plopped down, scattering books and notes filled with complex drawings of venomous plants across the table.

"So how's it going?" they both asked at the same time before laughing.

"I'm okay," Neville answered only after Harry himself had given an unenthusiastic reply. Neville seemed slightly preoccupied, though, as he glanced around the room. He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially, "Have you talked to Ron recently?"

"Lavender ask you of his whereabouts too?" Harry muttered, not bothering to keep his voice low.

"Less ask, more demand," Neville said with a slight smile. "I saw him walk by earlier. I tried waving him over but he ignored me. He looked a little worse for wear."

"Yeah, well, there was a bit of a, er, problem in Potions. You would've appreciated it, Neville."

"Probably right," he said, looking glad for an explanation of his friend's cold behavior. "Can't really say I miss the class a whole lot, though. Gives me more time to devote to Herbology!"

"Whatever you say," Harry said, and the two fell silent as they worked on their respective projects.

Harry was just finishing off a rather mediocre paragraph when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He grumbled as he turned around, expecting to find Lavender again, and was therefore surprised to discover it was Ginny glaring at him, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

"Can I have a word with you?"

Her calm tone was extremely forced and made Harry feel inexplicably nervous. He glanced back at Neville, who only peeked at Ginny a millisecond before he bent back over his notes, like he had not noticed the interruption at all.

"Uh, sure," Harry said, standing up. "Neville, you mind keeping an eye on my stuff for a moment?"

"A-all right," Neville said, doing his best to avoid Ginny's heated gaze.

Ginny led Harry out of the common room and, checking to make sure the hallway was secluded, she rounded on him.

"_Well_?"

Harry stared in confusion at her red face and resentful tone. The monster in his chest, which had sniffed hopefully at the thought of another private conversation, shrunk back in fear.

"Well what?"

Given the way her jaw clenched and fist tightened, Harry thought she was going to take a swing at him. But she surprised him even more as she took a deep breath, as if to prepare herself for something rather painful.

"_Please_ tell me you're not seriously mad at my brother."

"Er, yes, I am."

She threw him an exaggerated withered look.

"Care to share why, exactly?"

Harry considered her and the question for all of five seconds before his mouth began to run away from him as he counted the reasons on his fingers.

"He nearly blew up the Half-Blood Prince's book, he continuously bitches and moans about Slug Club shit, he purposefully sabotaged possibly the only chance I would have had at getting on Slughorn's good side, and, as my luck would have it, the one page he utterly destroyed from the Prince's book was the page I needed to get a decent grade in the next class, so in reality he not only ruined _today's _attempt at chumming up to Slughorn, but he inadvertently wrecked _any _future shot I may have had. Oh, and he did this all in the span of approximately thirty minutes."

Ginny's look of skepticism only made him seethe more.

"Anything else?" she asked evenly, as if all of his complaints bothered her about as much as a Cheering Charm would on the happiest day of her life.

"Why are you taking _his _side?!" he exclaimed, utterly mystified by her attitude. Hadn't they been on such good terms only earlier this afternoon?

"Because he's the lesser idiot this time," she said with such conviction that Harry found he could not respond immediately. "Now why are you _really _mad?"

"Because of what I just told you!" he exploded again, frustrated at how thick she was making him feel. "Because he messed up the book! Because that'll mess up my grade on my next Potions class! Because _that'll _mess up any positive relationship I might have had with Slughorn! And because _that_—"

But here he paused, unsure of what to say. Ron and Hermione were one thing, but Dumbledore had not said anything about telling Ginny of their meetings. Sure, she knew that the meetings existed (she _had _delivered his second invitation), but he wasn't too keen to mention exactly what those meetings entailed.

"And because _that_, no doubt," Ginny continued for him, "will mess up whatever it is Dumbledore wants you to do." When Harry stared at her, she added, "Like it was a secret?"

Harry folded his arms, not amused.

"It's not that hard to figure out, Harry. Dumbledore brought Slughorn in to teach Potions. Everyone wants to be in the Slug Club, to be recognized and admired…except you, that is. That's not like you in the slightest, to want attention, is it?"

She flashed him a lazy smile that caused his arms to drop to his sides.

"Yet you are a member, and you still want to get in Slughorn's good books. It doesn't take an Unspeakable to figure out that Dumbledore wants something from Slughorn, and that he needs you to get it for him.

"So what is it, exactly, that you're mad about, Harry? Is Ron really the one you're angry with?"

Harry wrenched his mouth open, but found it closing again. Her annoyingly deductive reasoning made him think twice before responding.

"If _he _hadn't suggested that stupid plan, I wouldn't be in this mess."

"Where _would _you be? Any closer to getting what you need from Slughorn?"

"No, but I sure as hell wouldn't be as deep in this shit as I am now!"

"How well _was _your relationship with Slughorn before today? Because I'm not the only member of the Slug Club who's noticed a decline in the number of get-togethers we've had this semester. Might that be your doing?"

"But there was still a chance," Harry said through gritted teeth. "There was still a smidge of a chance at getting it. But not anymore. _He _destroyed any and all chances."

"You know, you sound like a four year old. You didn't _have _to agree to this plan."

"And if he wasn't going to follow through with the plan, he shouldn't have suggested it in the first place!"

Ginny closed her eyes and rubbed at them, looking aggravated. But Harry wasn't done yet.

"This is the only mission Dumbledore's ever given me. It's the only time he's ever trusted me. And now, thanks to _him_, Dumbledore will never trust me with anything ever again."

"Harry," Ginny tried again, sympathetically. "I get what you're trying to say. But I don't honestly think you understand how big of a prat you sound right now. Just because someone _suggests _a plan and you go along with it doesn't mean that they're to blame for the whole thing when it blows up in your face! How well do you think it would have gone over if Lucius Malfoy, on the day of his trial, told the Wizengamot that he shouldn't be put in Azkaban because it was all _Voldemort's _plan?"

Harry frowned, not certain if he had ever heard her actually say the Dark Lord's name before.

"Now can I ask a question? It's serious, and I really do want you to think about it. Don't just blurt out whatever you feel like. Really consider it for a moment, will you?"

Ginny looked up at him adamantly, and Harry sighed, unable to deny those brown eyes anything.

"All right then. Shoot."

"Do you _really _think Ron came up with this plan to mess with you? Do you think my brother is that malicious to purposefully make you look like a first-class arse in front of Slughorn, when he _knows _it's pertinent to your mission for Dumbledore?"

Despite himself, Harry felt his face grow hot. Malicious? _Ron_? The answer was so maddeningly obvious that he found he couldn't answer it immediately.

"It's a simple question, Harry," she reiterated slowly, as if she were trying to communicate to Crabbe or Goyle. "Do you think my brother set you up to fail? Keep in mind that for the past five and a half years he's done nothing more than be your best mate."

His shoulders slumped, able to smell his imminent defeat in the air.

"No," he grumbled.

"What was that?" Ginny asked innocently, smiling victoriously.

"No, I don't think he purposefully set me up to fail. _Although_," he added desperately, unable to go down without a fight when she looked so damn smug about it, "that doesn't change the fact that he still _did _set me up to fail. Even if it was on accident."

"So, according to your logic," Ginny said through gritted teeth, "Lucius Malfoy should have gone free?"

"Lucius Malfoy didn't blow up a Potions classroom. He tried to kill us."

"So if Ron asked you to kill Slughorn and you did, you'd blame it on him?"

"That's a moot point. Ron would never ask me to kill Slughorn."

"This whole conversation is a moot point if you're going to continue acting like the world's greatest prat!" Ginny practically shouted, looking ready to tear out chunks of her fiery red hair.

"I think you mean this whole conversation is a moot point if all you're trying to do is make me _feel _like the world's greatest prat."

This time Ginny looked ready to jump at him and tear out chunks of _his _hair.

"Okay, new tactic," Ginny massaged her temples and kept her eyes closed, as if trying to dispel a headache. "Hypothetically speaking, Harry, if you tried blowing up McGonagall's classroom, what do you think would happen?"

"Hypothetically speaking?" Harry repeated, raising his eyebrow. Ginny nodded, and he continued: "Detention for life. And so many points from Gryffindor we'd be in the red."

He cracked a smile at his pun, but Ginny's scowl told him she was not amused.

"Now, not hypothetically speaking, what happened when Ron blew up Slughorn's classroom?"

"Slughorn let him off the hook," Harry narrowed his eyes, not pleased with her lack of reaction to his joke and equally not enjoying the feeling of being led into a trap.

"Reason being?"

"Reason being what?"

Ginny glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, as if silently asking it to replace him with someone having more than half a brain to think with, before answering.

"The reason why Slughorn let Ron off the hook, even though he blew it up on purpose."

"Oh. Well…Slughorn reckoned it was an accident."

"An accident."

"…Yeah."

"And now, hypothetically speaking again, what do you think Snape would have done if Ron had tried to pass this off as an _accident_ in his class."

"We would both be dead," he answered without any hesitation.

"And Lupin, what would he have done?"

"He'd be…disappointed, I guess. But what's Remus got to do with this?"

"Your least and most favorite professor, Snape and Lupin. Both would have realized that you two didn't do this on accident. You would have been punished one way or another."

Harry thought for two beats before his mouth got the better of him.

"You reckon Ron _wanted _to get punished?"

"A breakthrough!" Ginny raised her eyes and arms up, as if to give praise to the ceiling for coming through for her.

"You can't be serious…" Harry laughed shortly. "Why would anyone want to be punished? Especially for something as serious as blowing up a classroom?"

She stared at him full in the face, making his stomach do a back flip.

"I'm not saying he _wanted _to get punished for it. He _expected _it, Harry. Ron expected his plan to work, and he expected to get in trouble for it. So how do you think he felt when Slughorn let him off the hook?"

It didn't take Harry long to come up with an answer for that one.

"Well, he should've been happy about it!"

He jumped in surprise and pain when the redhead socked him on the arm.

"No, you big git! Why is it that blokes won't ever consider how other blokes feel?" Her eyes swept back up to the ceiling momentarily, as if wondering where her savior had run off to. "Can you at least attempt to think about this from Ron's perspective for two seconds? How the hell would _you _feel if your professor thought so low of you that your attempt at sabotage was read as a regular fuck-up on your part?!"

His stomach did a swan dive, and now Harry understood why Ginny was so pissed with him. Why he had been so pissed in class earlier. Why he was so pissed now.

He hadn't been mad at Ron.

_Certainly bungled that one up, though, didn't he?_

He had been mad at Slughorn. At his belittlement, at his idea that Ron were just some hapless oaf who quite commonly exploded classrooms, at his superiority in forgiving Ron of said supposed idiocy and subsequent catastrophe of a potion....

_You're just jealous_.

And now he was mad at himself.

He really _was _the bigger idiot.

"Like shit, right?" Ginny continued, seeming to realize that he was starting to come to the conclusions she had reached quite some time ago. "And when your best friend, the big arse that he is, blames you for bailing out on the plan over jealousy, how does that make you feel?"

Guilt. That was it, gnawing away at his gut. He felt sick.

"Like bigger shit."

"And guess who the real shithead is in all this," Ginny muttered, looking very cross now that he was finally catching on.

A weary sigh and meekly raised hand followed his strained smile, and Ginny nodded her agreement.

"How'd you find out about all this anyway?"

"A little owlie told me," she said confidentially.

"But only Slughorn, Ron, and I were in the room. How did you hear about that?"

"Oh, _that_." She had a hard, mean look in her eye that Harry wasn't used to seeing except during a Quidditch match. He instinctively took a step back. "Had a chat with Slughorn. Told me my cousin Ryan blew up the classroom during his last lesson and not to be perturbed by the scorch marks on the desks."

"You have a cousin?"

"Five, actually," she returned bitterly. "But I knew he was talking about Ron. Slughorn can't stand the fact that I might be directly related to him, so he calls him my cousin."

The guilt caused him to wince and he turned his attention to his trainers.

"He had a fun time trying to convince me how thrilling your class period was, about how you stepped in and saved his life. But it was the way he talked about Ron…I can't describe it. He was just so…_condescending_! I hadn't even heard about your fight—"

Here, she gave Harry a pointed look that made him feel even more shamefaced.

"It just made me sick—this pompous leech of a man, talking about my brother like he's worthless while he sits on his fat arse all day and watches his little sluggies become famous, collecting the perks while doing none of the work. He really makes me sick sometimes."

Harry suddenly recalled the image of a swollen spider, the vivid impression Slughorn had made when they had first met over the summer. The spider, having laid its web, watched as the entrapped flies writhed futilely; a twitch of the threads brought its next victim closer to its fanged mouth.

"Well, after that he asked me if I wanted to attend a dinner party next week—apparently he told Gwenog Jones how well our first Quidditch game went and he wanted to discuss scouts coming for our next match."

"What did you tell him?" Harry found he could hardly recognize his own voice.

"After what he said about Ron? I told him I'd sooner have a manticore run through me than go with him."

"And what did he have to say to that?" Harry said, shocked but impressed.

"I don't know. I left right after I said it and slammed the door in his face."

She watched him as if expecting him to say something, but he didn't.

"And then I found out about you," she said, observing him some more, gauging his reaction. He fidgeted under her intense gaze. "And your fight."

His question of how she knew vanished as soon as she punched him in the arm again, looking angry.

"And _you_, you big idiot, you brought up his jealousy! _Really_? What were you thinking?"

"I don't…" Harry thought back to their row, rubbing his painful arm. "I didn't…."

"You _didn't _think. Sounds about right."

He looked to the ground again, finding that he had no answer to that. A moment later and he nearly jumped out of his skin as Ginny carefully stroked her fingertips over the spot she had hit on his arm. Even through his shirt his skin burned where she touched him, and it was a very electrifying yet short-lived experience; she quickly retracted her hand and crossed her arms menacingly.

"You need to go talk to him."

"You couldn't, er," he felt a bit flustered, already missing the physical contact. "You know…talk to him first, could you?"

"And soften him up for you? Fat chance."

Harry sighed and lowered his head, not looking forward to that conversation. She turned around and walked to the Fat Lady, whose eyes were trained toward the ceiling in some act of innocence. "Abstinence."

The portrait swung open and Ginny climbed into the hole. She fumbled a bit and Harry was about to reach out to help her, but he caught the Fat Lady's small but firm head shake that clearly said _Don't! _and he refrained. Ginny steadied herself and turned to glance at him, a bit of pleased shock on her face, before she remarked, seemingly offhandedly:

"This conversation never took place. Can't have my big brother thinking I've been caring about him. And until you apologize to him, we're not speaking to each other."

And with that, the portrait swung shut on her and Harry was left alone in the hallway, staring at the Fat Lady.

"She doesn't like it when her boyfriend helps her through," she said with a shrug, as if in reply to his questioning gaze.

Harry sighed as the monster in his chest grumbled agitatedly, its conditioned response at any mention of Dean.

"You should probably go in and apologize, then."

"You were eavesdropping!" Harry accused.

"You didn't exactly make it private, dear. And you'll need a password in order to get through."

Harry, who had stepped forward in an attempt to get by her, threw his hands in the air.

"Ginny just said it!"

"And how do I know you're not some other student in a disguise? Password!"

"Even if I _were_ a student in disguise, I would have just heard her say it, wouldn't I?"

"Then this shouldn't be as difficult as you are making it out to be. Password?"

Teeth grinding, Harry glared at the portrait, but the Fat Lady just smiled serenely, unfazed.

"Abstinence."

"Now was that so hard?" she asked, a laugh in her voice, as she swung open.

Muttering a few choice profanities under his breath, Harry stepped through the portrait hole, glancing around the common room for his best friend but not finding him. He made his way back over to Neville, who had a quill poised above his parchment.

"You know where Ron is, Neville?" he asked, and the Gryffindor started, his attention having been solely focused on his research.

"No!" he answered automatically, before noticing that it was Harry who asked it. "Oh, sorry Harry, thought you were…someone else—"

"All right, where is he?"

It was Harry's turn to jump before nearly straining his neck to check the owner of the volatile voice. Lavender Brown was looking murderous, her blue eyes swimming with rage.

"What?" Harry asked in bewilderment, not expecting such a cold reception.

"Ron! My boyfriend! Where is he?!"

"I dunno—"

"He was last seen with _you_."

Her hands went straight to her hips as her eyes became nothing more than slits. Harry remained silent, eyes darting around, searching for a possible escape.

"We've been studying here for the past hour, Lavender. Haven't seen him go in or out," Neville piped up for him, looking earnestly at his distressed classmate. "Although I think Seamus might have mentioned seeing Ron with Dean down at the Quidditch Pitch."

"But Ron doesn't have practice until _Thursday_," her brow furrowed but seemed to take this explanation for the truth as she made her way out of the common room.

Harry turned to Neville, impressed.

"I saw him go up to our room earlier, Harry," he muttered, looking momentarily frightened. "He might still be up there. Please don't mention it to Lavender, though."

"Ha, yeah right," he snorted. "Only if I had a death wish."

Neville went back to his parchment but Harry hesitated, sitting down at his old spot in front of his fellow Gryffindor. Neville scratched out a few more sentences before sighing and looking over at him bemusedly.

"Anything else?"

"No, I guess not," Harry muttered, unable to meet his eyes.

A short silence passed between the two before Neville scratched his chin with his quill.

"I'd just apologize, Harry."

Harry looked up at him, surprised.

"What? How did you—"

"Harry, please. I've had to apologize to someone for something nearly every day of my life, accident prone that I am. I think I know what a contrite face looks like when I see it."

"So your advice," Harry said, unable to hide the small smile tugging at his mouth, "is to just apologize, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That's not exceptionally helpful advice, Neville."

"Sorry, Harry."

Neville went back to his parchment as Harry stood to procrastinate a bit longer, making small talk with a few of his classmates on his way over to the staircase leading up to the boys' dorms. His feet felt as though they were made of lead by the time he reached the bottom of the staircase. Seeing Ginny and her nearly inconspicuous yet encouraging grin partially invigorated him.

Each step felt a mile long, but he needn't have worked himself up; he found the sixth year boys' dormitory completely deserted. He trudged back down the stairs and went right back over to Neville.

"He's not there."

"Well, I haven't been keeping tabs on him, Harry. He probably left when I was working on my essay."

Catching the hint, Harry sat back down on his chair and decided that waiting for him in the common room would be a better idea than taking the Lavender Brown approach by scouring the castle for him.

* * *

**A/n**: Well, that's it for now. I'm sure you all can imagine what's coming up next.

I hope that Harry/Ginny scene went all right for you lot. It was a big bitch (pardon my French) to write; went through approximately seven or eight rewrites, edits, and modifications. I didn't want it too touchy feely (this IS Ginny and Harry we're talking about), but at the same time, still needed to get the point across. Even now I'm not sure I did it the way I had wanted to initially, and I feel like I'm pressing my luck in keeping people in character, but what do I know? I enjoyed writing it and I'll stick to it.

Next chapter will feature the following: more angry Lavender, an even angrier Crookshanks, hurt Ron, and, as expected, apologetic Harry. I swear I'll try not to wait another week for an update...again I'll shoot for Wednesday, but it really depends on my schedule and motivation.

Alright, a moment of shameless pleading: I would really really REALLY appreciate some reviews. Good? Bad? Bueller? ANYBODY? Please feed the hungry author! Reviews are all she thrives on!

(That said, thanks so much to my seester, NellieNotMolly, and nami, for your support. This chapter goes out to you especially!)

~dieselwriter


	3. Often Go Awry

**A/n**: Why does Wednesday never really mean Wednesday anymore? At least it's not Sunday, I suppose.

* * *

**Gang Aft Agley  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter Three: Often Go Awry**

He had written the last foot of his Potions assignment, Neville had finished his own Herbology work and went up to bed, Hermione had bid him goodnight, and most of the Common Room had emptied and still Ron had not shown up. It was just Harry alone with his pathetic essay and the Half-Blood Prince's book, waiting for the inevitable awkward conversation.

It was well past midnight before the portrait hole opened. Harry sat up straight, feeling anxious and tense, but sat right back down again as Lavender Brown came into view, looking highly aggravated. Harry tried to shrink into his chair but Lavender saw him and made a bee line for his table.

"He wasn't at the Quidditch Pitch," she accused, even though it had in fact been Neville to suggest looking for Ron at that particular location. "And he wasn't at the library, or the Owlery, or the Great Hall, or Ravenclaw Tower—"

"Why would he be in Ravenclaw Tower?" Harry interrupted, genuinely curious.

"Well, I don't know," she huffed, hands on her hips (their usual residence during conversations with her boyfriend's best mate). "But he wasn't there. When he gets back you can tell him from me that I've given up looking for him. Let _him _be the one to worry for a change."

Harry swallowed a snort, certain that Lavender would be even angrier if he laughed at her. The resulting noise sounded equivalent to a toad sneezing and made her frown deeply, but she said nothing more before stomping up the stairs towards her bedroom.

"Is she gone yet?"

Harry nearly fell out of his seat as Ron, hair still damp from a shower, poked his head around the entrance, squinting through the semi-darkness for any sign of his girlfriend's reemergence. Finding none, he stepped forward to sit in one of the more comfortable armchairs by the fire.

Harry frowned at the swollen split lip Ron was currently sporting.

"Where'd you get that?" he heard himself ask. Not quite the apology he had in mind.

"What? Oh," Ron swiped at the dried blood at the corner of his mouth before shrugging. "Ran into Zabini. He wasn't too amused with the Beetle Biters."

Something cold and unpleasant gnawed again at Harry's insides, knowing full well whose fault that was and knowing also that Ginny would've hit him again had she known. The feeling of dread doubled as footsteps sounded from the girls' staircase, and Lavender Brown appeared a moment later at the bottom of the steps.

Harry heard Ron swear under his breath before looking over at his girlfriend. "'Lo, Lavender."

Lavender, getting an eyeful of his injury, rounded on Harry in an instant.

"What did you do to him?!" she demanded, towering over him and performing a spectacular impression of a Hungarian Horntail.

"I didn't do it!" Harry yelled out in self-defense, throwing his arms out to shield himself in preparation for fire shooting out of her nostrils.

"Oi, people are sleeping up the stairs, you know," Ron said, clearly wanting to diffuse the argument.

When Lavender made no sign of backing down, Ron made to stand up and physically pull her away. A sleeping Crookshanks coiled up on the floor, however, caught him off guard; he ended up falling to the floor with a painful-sounding thud and the cat shrieked with an ear-splitting yowl.

"Ron!" Lavender shouted, rushing forward to help. "Are you okay?"

"M'fine," Ron said in an attempt to shake her off. He glared over at Crookshanks, who had jumped up on a nearby table and was now staring at him unblinkingly, bottlebrush tail flicking threateningly.

"Are you sure? Maybe we should have that lip taken care of—"

"I told you, it's fine. Let it alone."

"But where were you all day?" she asked, and Harry felt considerably annoyed at the lack of accusation in her voice. When she had asked him that question, her tone had been dripping with disdain. "I've been trying to find you—"

"Oh, you know," Ron rubbed his thumb under his lip again self consciously, scanning his eyes over the room before landing on Harry, "Quidditch."

"But I checked the pitch twice," Lavender whined, turning to look at Harry. Her eyes widened, as if only just realizing he was there. "And Harry's on the team but he hasn't been practicing. He's been in the common room all evening!"

"Er, that's right," Ron fumbled, looking imploringly at inanimate objects around the room, obviously hoping one might step in and save him from a meltdown. "But…but—"

"But I had Ron and Cormac McLaggen hold a special Keeper practice down by the Forbidden Forest," Harry stepped in, since Crookshanks didn't look like he would be offering any convincing lies any time soon. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you earlier. They're working on a new strategy we'll be implementing in the match with Hufflepuff."

Ron and Lavender both looked at him, dumbfounded. Luckily Ron recovered first; he arranged a relatively bored look, as if this were not new to him, before Lavender turned to gaze at him.

"Why didn't you say anything, Won-Won?" she pouted, hugging him round the middle. "I've been worried all day."

"The strategy's all hush-hush," Ron answered, fighting off a grin that would give himself away. "I was going to tell you about it after the match…"

"Well, you need to take better care of yourself," she released him and looked up into his face, eyeing his lip warily. "I knew I didn't like that McLaggen git. Look what he did to you!"

Ron couldn't hide his smile this time.

"Yeah, he is a bit of a prat."

"I still can't believe Hermione Granger went with him to that Christmas party," Lavender continued heatedly, clearly still wanting to be mad about something now that Harry was no longer a reasonable option. "And she didn't even get back until two in the morning—"

Harry would have quite enjoyed the very interesting shade of scarlet Ron's ears were turning, but his eyes crept back over to Crookshanks, who hadn't moved from his spot on the table since his near trampling. Lavender continued chattering away, which Harry found easy to ignore as he tried to figure out how he would get Ron alone in order to apologize. Talking in a room with three sleeping dorm mates wouldn't do much good, but at the rate Lavender spoke to her boyfriend it seemed it had already been a miracle just to have a private row with Ron earlier. Leaving it until tomorrow was a rather appealing option, but he wasn't quite sure how long he could stand Ginny's conversation embargo. He grumbled internally at his dilemma while watching Hermione's pet glare at Ron.

"—So do you want me to help make your lip feel better?" Lavender was whispering loudly, stroking her fingertips across his swollen lip and clearly forgetting Harry was still in the room. This made him realize rather quickly that giving his attention to Crookshanks had been a smart choice thus far.

The cat, however, seemed to sense what was coming and jumped off the table to streak up the staircase leading to the boy's dormitories. Harry only wished he could have made as inconspicuous a disappearance as that, but it proved unnecessary; any expectant accompanying snog sounds did not come.

"I'm kind of tired, actually…what with Quidditch and all…" Ron stammered, removing her hand from his face by taking it in his own, much larger hand. "I think I'm just going to head up to bed with Harry."

"What?" she blushed, looking immediately scandalized. Harry found himself agreeing with her on this one as he too felt his face heat up.

"You know what I mean!" Ron looked even more flustered than before, and Harry wasn't sure his ears would ever return to their original flesh colour. "I'll meet up with you for breakfast tomorrow, how's that?"

Lavender didn't look appeased, but mellowed out after a brief but intense kiss from her boyfriend. Harry grabbed his essay and book and inched himself away as far as he could surreptitiously until he reached the foot of the stairs leading up to the boys' dormitories, deciding to wait for Ron even though he was still unsure of how exactly he would get to converse with him privately tonight.

"Good night, Lavender," Ron pulled away first, squeezing her hand before heading over toward Harry.

"Sweet dreams, Won-Won," Lavender smiled dreamily after him. Ron's face twitched momentarily before he waved at her lazily, surpassing Harry and heading up the staircase.

Harry was about to follow but a loud, simpering sigh made him look concernedly over his shoulder. Lavender was looking at the spot where Ron disappeared, a goofy grin plastered all over her face. He continued to watch her worriedly for a few moments before she positively glided on up towards her own bedroom, paying him absolutely no heed whatsoever.

More worried for Ron than ever before (and for very good reason), Harry made his own way up the circling staircase, but paused at hearing a loud and angry hiss, followed by an even louder and highly profane swear from Ron.

"It's your own damn fault you got stepped on this time! What the hell are you doing lounging about in the middle of a set of stairs?!"

Another hiss followed, and Harry started to climb again to try to find out what the ruckus was about. He made it nearly halfway up before bumping into Ron.

"I hate this bloody cat," Ron faced off against Crookshanks, who looked ready to maul as he sat perched three steps above, effectively blocking their path.

"I don't think he's your biggest fan either," Harry piped up from behind, watching Hermione's menacing cat curiously.

Ron tried making a move to get around Crookshanks, but the cat swiped a clawed paw at his leg and bared his teeth. Harry thought that Ron would attack the animal, with or without the aid of a wand, and was therefore surprised when he sighed in defeat and sat down on the stairs, apparently prepared to wait it out. Crookshanks' squashed face and calculating green eyes continued to survey the scene with fur stood up on end, on alert to fight off more of Ron's kick-the-cat attempts.

A warm, comforting bed beckoned Harry onward, yet a much warmer thought of having the perfect opportunity to reconcile and be able to speak with Ginny privately again made him lean up against the wall beside his best friend.

But Harry's initial pleasure faded as he tried to think up of someway to begin an apology. They sat in a rather uncomfortable silence as his mind wandered back to fourth year, how Ron (in his own awkward way) had attempted to apologize before he stepped in and put him out of his misery. Harry sincerely hoped Ron would consider returning the favor.

Looking down, Harry found Ron still with his eyes on the bow-legged creature blocking his way, but his brow was furrowed as if thinking of something even more unpleasant than the likely event of getting his face scratched off.

"Hey," Ron broke the silence, even though he didn't bother making any form of eye contact, "about today…"

His ears tinged pink and Harry steeled himself, ready for a berating. He couldn't shake the feeling of Ginny's eyes boring into the back of his head, as if she were judging his every move.

"Sorry," he mumbled, startling Harry immensely. He had misconstrued his embarrassment as anger, and was certain that, had Ginny really been present, she would have slugged him in the shoulder a third time. "I didn't mean—"

"Stop," Harry interrupted, and even though he could feel Ron glancing up at him, he found he couldn't take his eyes off the still-prowling Crookshanks.

"But—"

"Please, just stop," and here, Harry did look at him. Ron looked annoyed but didn't say anything else, making Harry feel a bit of a heel. "I didn't…you know, mean what I said. Earlier. You know?"

Ron's swollen lip twitched a smile.

"Yeah, I know. It's fine."

Harry felt his anxiety over the whole situation alleviate almost immediately.

"I really was a prat, though—"

"Knew that one, too."

Ron grinned at his joke and Harry returned it in kind.

"Our little stunt had an unfortunate casualty, though," Harry continued, pulling out the Half-Blood Prince's book for Ron's inspection. The redhead stared at it before raising an eyebrow at him.

"I don't get it."

"Page 236."

Ron hesitated before opening the book, flipping through the pages. Harry frowned at the length of time it took for Ron to squint and discern the page numbers—really, it wasn't _that _dark.

"I still don't get it," Ron finally repeated, snapping the book shut and handing it back over.

Harry stared at him in confusion, causing Ron to avert his eyes in discomfort at the obvious scrutiny.

"What?"

It was like a puzzle was finally clicking for Harry though; why Ron had run into so many things (the irate Crookshanks provided two living examples), missed his bag when Harry handed it to him after class, squinted to see in relatively well-lit areas…

"What's wrong with your eyes?"

"Nothing!" Ron replied defensively, turning redder still.

But Harry recalled the explosion earlier that day, how blinding the light had been, even when he had been hiding under a desk.

"Merlin, Ron, how long do you expect to get by when you can't even read a textbook?"

Ron rubbed at his eyes wearily before responding in a small voice:

"Technically, I've always had trouble reading the Prince's book."

Harry stared at him a moment before getting up off the wall to reach down and pull Ron to his feet. Whether or not this whole thing was his fault, he was still going to fix what he could of it.

"Right. C'mon, let's go."

"You know a way to get around Hermione's devil cat?" Ron smiled, accepting his hand as Crookshanks hissed warningly at the sudden movement. "Excellent!"

"No, we're going the opposite direction," Harry said, dragging him down the stairs and through the common room.

"You know a secret way into our room?"

"I know the normal way to the hospital wing."

Ron sighed in exasperation even as Harry guided him through the portrait hole and into the hallway outside the Gryffindor common room.

"A little late for that, isn't it?"

"What're you on about? Pomfrey can fix anything; I'm sure whatever happened isn't permanent—"

"I meant the time, Merlin."

Harry checked his watch and realized how late it actually was.

"Oh, well," he determined, still hauling Ron down the hallway. "I'm sure she'll be okay with it, since it's an emergency and all."

"Hardly an emergency. I've been dealing with it all day, haven't I?"

"And who knows what kind of damage could have resulted."

"You just said your reckoned it wasn't permanent."

"Look," Harry gave him a stern glance, "can you quit trying to be difficult?"

"Can you quit trying to be like Hermione then?" Ron asked, returning the glare and wrenching his wrist out of Harry's grip.

"Can you quit acting like me then, ya blind git?" Harry demanded, pointing at his glasses.

Ron's demeanor changed from defensive to amused in an instant.

"Did you just refer to yourself as a git?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at that.

"You seem surprised."

Ron laughed as well before seeming to concede as he continued down the hall, Harry falling into step at his side a moment later. The silence shared after that, while not nearly as awkward as before, was still annoyingly tense.

"I've been thinking about your situation," Ron broke it again, stroking his chin to feign concentration. "And I think I've another idea."

Harry smiled genuinely, looking at his best mate.

"Seriously, Ron, I don't think the Prophet will be able to handle another breaking story like that."

"Have you been taking sarcasm lessons from my sister?" Ron crossed his arms but Harry could see the smile in his eyes.

"It's possible."

"Well in that case, you can forget the plan. Figure out Slughorn by yourself."

Harry frowned at the unfortunate reminder.

"Sorry," Ron apologized, sensing Harry's uneasiness. "It's just…hard to have someone who doesn't give a crap about you try to teach you."

"Considering Snape you'd think you'd be used to it."

Ron shrugged.

"At least Snape remembered my name. Not that it's a big deal," he immediately amended, reacting to Harry's further discomfiture. "It's just Potions, after all. I was bad at it when Snape was teaching, and now I'm just as bad with Slughorn. Snape would be so proud."

Harry laughed and waited for Ron to continue. When he did nothing more than give a small, unsatisfied sigh, though, Harry spoke up.

"I'm listening."

"I didn't say anything."

"No, I meant about the plan you mentioned. I want to hear it."

"Oh!" Ron sounded delightedly surprised, smiling in a self-satisfied sort of way. "You'll like this one; much less messy in comparison to the first plan. No explosions involved."

"I find myself fancying it already."

"Well good, because it's the only plan I've got."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Ron smirked before punching Harry in his already rather sore arm.

"Oh shut it."

* * *

**A/n**: Ah, nothing like the sweet sound of a repaired friendship. Man, do I love writing Harry/Ron banter.

Next (and last) chapter will be up sometime this weekend (Sunday, I'd wager, if you can believe it), and will consist of mostly epilogue-ish detail. Still, definitely worth your time to check out if you'd enjoyed it thus far.

Any grammar/spelling errors can be blamed on the fact that I edited at one in the morning, and I'm tired, dagnabit. Thanks to my reviewers, as always, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! We're almost done!

Again, all reviews (positive or negative) would be greatly appreciated, and look forward to the final chapter in a few days!

~dieselwriter

P.S.: The astute reader can probably guess where Ron was hiding out, and also exactly how Ginny heard about Harry and Ron's row. If there's any confusion, however, I'll be more than happy to enlighten.


	4. The Backup Plans

**A/n**: Final chapter! Sorry about the major belatement. Still...there is a faint hope that the wait will have been worth it. ;)

This one is short, sweet, and to the point. Sort of. Despite that fact I think you'll enjoy it.

* * *

**Gang Aft Agley  
By dieselwriter**

**Chapter Four: The Backup Plans**

"Are you sure about this?"

"Not at all."

"Brilliant."

"You could always try to wing it without the Prince's notes…"

"Ha, no, this plan has at least a marginal chance at working."

"Oh Harry, have I ever told you how much I appreciate your confidence in me? Because, really, it's palpable."

"Well if you had some confidence in your own plan, maybe I'd reconsider my lingering doubts."

"I had enough confidence in the last plan, and look how that turned out. My approach to this attempt is to continuously distrust it. That way if it doesn't pan out I'll be able to say _I told you so_."

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"Then my plan is working perfectly."

Both scheming boys frowned at the shadow that spilled over the desk top.

"If you are even _thinking _about purposefully sabotaging this class," the two Gryffindors shuddered at the chilly voice raining down on them like sleet, "I _will _make you pay for it."

"Hermione, I'm insulted," Harry said, turning in his chair to face her. "I can't believe you would think I would do anything to endanger your education."

"I mean it, I'll go straight to Slughorn and rat you out."

Ron smiled secretly, as if he had the perfect comeback to that threat but couldn't share his brilliance because Hermione would just ignore it. Harry thus had to settle for his own civil version.

"I promise that I will do nothing in this class to mess up yours or anyone else's potion."

"Can we hold you to that?" Malfoy drawled from his desk, earning him a few snickers from his fellow Slytherins. "_Some _of us will be trying to make above a Troll-worthy effort."

His tired grey eyes bore straight into Ron's, who instantly tensed.

"I guess there's a first time for everything," Hermione muttered under her breath as she took her seat, causing Harry's retort to freeze on his lips and Ron to stare at her in utterly pleased bewilderment.

"Class, please, pass up your essays," Slughorn bustled into his classroom in his usual manner, avoiding eye contact with Harry and showing up exactly on time so as to avoid any chance of non-school related conversation with him. "We have a lot to catch up on today, so I'm going to need everyone's full attention!"

The final mutterings of the class died down as Hermione, ever the over-achiever, collected the class' essays and placed them on Slughorn's desk. The professor beamed at her while Ron continued to watch her in befuddlement, even as she reclaimed her seat far away from him.

"As promised, I've brought along a fresh batch of the initial preparations for _Potior Morbus_," Slughorn waved rather unnecessarily at the enormous cauldron set-up on the front desk, "which we will be perfecting in class today. So don't be shy! Come up, grab a flask, and return a sample of the potion to your stations!"

Harry crossed his fingers before trudging along behind the rest of his class, lining up to receive a relatively normal-looking flask and sample of Slughorn's newly-concocted _Potior Morbus_.

"When's it supposed to work?" he hissed at Ron the second he appeared behind him in line.

"According to Fred and George it'll take a few minutes before going into effect. Don't worry, it'll be fine."

"I thought you weren't going to trust this plan?"

Ron shrugged his shoulders, although he looked a bit pale. "I trust the plan well enough. It's Fred and George I have my doubts about."

Harry only groaned his agreement, feeling a bit peaky himself.

Taking an ordinary-looking flask from the front desk, Harry ran his hands over the glassy surface quickly, not feeling much relieved at its relatively normal touch. He ladled a large glopful of the potion anyway, taking care not to spill any before returning to his desk to stare at the milky white concoction anxiously.

"It's not _working_," he hissed at Ron the second he returned to their shared desk.

"Professor?" Ernie Macmillan raised his hand, looking curiously into his flask.

"_I told you so_," Ron smiled broadly, pointing at Ernie's seemingly empty flask.

"Yes, Macintosh, what is it?" Slughorn bustled forward, having just finished with distributing the potion.

"Sir, is the potion meant to turn clear so soon?"

"What's this?" Slughorn asked, peering into Ernie's see-through flask. "Don't you need potion, son?"

"I was first in line," Ernie frowned, still mesmerized by his empty flask.

Slughorn's frown deepened as he took the flask and upended it over the desk. Unsatisfied with the lack of potion, he filled the flask once again before returning it to Ernie.

"Professor," Michael Corner raised his hand in the air as well, brow furrowed, "my potion's done the same thing!"

"Preposterous," Slughorn murmured, but more of the student's hands raised as their potions vanished on the spot.

Harry and Ron shared an appreciative grin as Slughorn sighed out a "It's going to be one of those classes again, is it?" while trudging back up to the front of the classroom.

"How about we try something a little different, then. A class project, if you will. Gather round, up at the front, and we'll make a group potion, where we all participate and receive the same grade, how's that?"

Curious murmurs broke out as chairs slid on the floor and the students rose to meet up in front of Slughorn's cauldron. Harry clapped a hand on Ron's shoulder gratefully, pleased that their plan had been successful (thanks to a lot of help from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' patented Vanishing Flasks and the Marauder's Map), and steered him up to the front of the classroom.

"So steps one through four have been completed, as is evidenced by the white colour and silver vapour rising just above the surface. Who knows what step five—yes, Ms. Granger?"

"Mince two slugs, add the first while stirring clockwise five times and the other while stirring counterclockwise seven times."

"Fantastic," Slughorn smiled warmly at Hermione. "Who would like to prepare our slugs?"

"Here, sir, allow me," Harry spoke up, eager to perform an easy task quickly, so that if things went sour in future steps he would not have to be involved. A few students grumbled mutinously, clearly annoyed that their classmate best at potions was taking such a menial task, leaving them for the more complicated steps later on.

"Excellent, Harry," Slughorn waved him forward to the workstation, "come up and grab a knife and slug then."

Harry set to work, fluidly but carefully cutting up the slugs, so they came out in even, slimy parts.

"Ms. Granger, why don't you set to stirring while Mr. Potter here adds the slugs," Slughorn asked, not bothering to wait for confirmation as he ushered her forward.

Hermione set to her task and Harry followed her lead obediently, pleased to find the colour change to a subtle grey color as soon as he had finished adding the first slug. By the time the second was in the cauldron, their potion had turned a stormy grey.

"Excellent, class, as you can see our first colour change has occurred. After the next step our potion should pale once again before vanishing completely. Can anyone provide the next instruction?"

Harry didn't bother trying to come up with an answer. Having done his own work correctly, he brought the cutting knife to the stone basin and washed it slowly and methodically, all the while listening on the odd pairing of Ernie Macmillan and Draco Malfoy work to complete the next step of the _Potior Morbus_.

"That'll do boys, that'll certainly do," Slughorn was saying to the Hufflepuff and Slytherin when Harry returned to join his classmates round the group cauldron. "Next step, as Ernie here has already tried to start on, is to add a diced sopophorous bean. Any takers?"

Most of the class seemed to recall from their first class the difficult task Slughorn was asking as they resolutely kept their hands down. Hermione was the only one who seemed eager to take on the challenge, but when she raised her hand Slughorn waved her off dismissively.

"Now, now, this is meant to be a group effort. Let's have one of your classmates have a chance at it first."

But no one seemed willing to endure the potential embarrassment of having a shriveled-up bean best them. Harry had a sudden inspiration as he trod on Ron's large foot.

"_What_?" Ron grumbled, looking as if he wanted to stomp right back on Harry's foot.

"Don't cut it," Harry instructed, pressing the borrowed but clean knife into Ron's hand, "squeeze out the juice with the flat side."

"_What_?" Ron repeated in quite a different tone, looking quickly from his newly acquired knife to his best mate. "No, you do it, Slughorn'll be impressed—"

"Already went," Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "Your turn."

"Was there a volunteer over there?" Slughorn interrupted, rising on his tiptoes to locate the source of the whispering. He noted the knife in Ron's hand and his confident smile faltered for a second. "Would you, er, like to take a stab at it?"

"Huh?" Ron looked where Slughorn was and registered the dagger clenched tightly in his fist. "Oh. Ha, stab. I get it."

"Well all right then, step up," the professor motioned for him to come forward, not looking altogether sure of this decision.

"What? No, I didn't mean—"

"Don't be shy," Harry smiled, giving him a small push forward.

Ron glared at him, but there was nothing for it; he made his way up to Slughorn and, avoiding eye contact all the while, grabbed the sopophorous bean he supplied and placed it on the partially soiled cutting board. The knife hesitated over the bean as Ron shot one last desperate look Harry's way, but all he did was give him an encouraging thumbs up.

"Astonishing!" Slughorn marveled, his initial apprehension gone in the instant Ron squeezed the juice out rather than cut up the bean. "Class, do you see this? The way he is squeezing the sopophorous bean, rather than cutting it? Have you and Mr. Potter been holding some private lessons in your spare time, Floyd?"

Most of the class laughed out loud, the Slytherins positively howling, both at the extremely inaccurate retrieval of Ron's name from Slughorn's memory and the hidden insinuation of their professor's question.

"Something like that," was Ron's mumbled reply, his ears looking as though they would catch fire at any moment. Harry watched his friend's eyes dart from him to Slughorn's earnest face before Ron sighed in resignation. "He's probably the best potioneer in our year."

Draco Malfoy led the class' renewed hysterics at Ron's comment, and if Harry hadn't felt so mortified he might have enjoyed watching the slimy git struggle to breathe through his fit.

"So it would seem," Slughorn beamed as Ron added the sopophorous juice to the cauldron and the potion vanished completely. Slughorn clapped his hands in delight before exclaiming, "Perfect! Our potion's gone!"

Ron nodded his head modestly and, having completed his work, waded through his still-giggling classmates to return to his spot.

"Well, good teamwork, boys," Slughorn said to both Gryffindors. "An excellent improvement on last week's work."

It might as well have been Christmas morning for Malfoy, and Harry was starting to wonder if it wouldn't have been better to have Snape down here teaching again. Ron, however, seemed surprisingly immune to the humiliation as he returned to Harry's side and kept his head held high (a feat Harry was currently having difficulties with, given how intriguing the dungeon floor had suddenly become).

"Don't be embarrassed," Ron muttered to him as a new student was selected to proceed on to the next set of instruction, "you really _are _the best in Potions in our year, you know?"

"Oh shut up," Harry mumbled, able to detect Ron's heavily sarcastic tone and see his matching cheeky grin from the corner of his eyes. "You didn't have to say that."

"Oh yes I did," Ron whispered out of the corner of his mouth, nodding forward.

Harry glanced where Ron was looking and noticed that, while Michael Corner was (rather unsuccessfully) trying to make the _Potior Morbus _reappear, Slughorn kept stealing covert glances at him.

"You're back in the game," Ron continued with a grin. "I told you this plan would work."

Harry couldn't find a reasonable response to that obvious falsehood, so he instead elbowed his best mate in the ribs in thanks.

* * *

**A/n**: Well, it was a bit short, but I did warn that this was more epiloguey than anything else.

Massive thanks as always to all of my reviewers! Thanks for hanging in there with me, and I hope it was worth it in the end for you! I really did enjoy writing this story, and I'm glad you enjoyed reading it!

So with this plot bunny out of the way, I'll be returning to _The Tales of Weasley the Father_, and I hope for those of you who haven't checked it out yet that you do, because in some ways it is quite similar to this story, and I really think you would enjoy it! But enough shameless self-advertising and run-on sentences; I hope you enjoyed this and I look forward to hearing from all my lovely readers!

~dieselwriter


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